Page 112 of Freeing Denver
Now, he falls silent. The itch under my skin returns. Had this been any other doe-eyed kid making eyes at Denver, I’d have laughed it off, but the idea of him being close to her and not me? Of him protecting her when I couldn’t?
That makes me want to hurt someone.
“Get over it and fast,” I say quietly, but not without venom. He swallows but doesn’t avert his gaze. “I’ll find it cute for about two fucking minutes before I add you to the list of the other men I’ve killed.”
I pass him and go back into the hall, eager to get back to my wife—eager to go the fuck home.
When I return to the foyer, Denver is leaning into Taf’s chest, her eyes closed. He’s rubbing her back, and she’s smiling at whatever he’s saying.
“Where’s Sebastian?” I ask, and my heart warms when Denver opens her eyes and immediately comes to me, wrapping her arms around my waist and resting her ear against my chest.
God, she feels good. Like my future and home.
“Charlie’s medics are looking at him. It was a through and through, so he’s lucky. Where’s the cut-up cop?”
I arch a brow. “You knew he was a cop?”
“Yeah. Spotted it the moment I walked through the doors. I mean, look at him,” he says, nodding behind me. I turn to see Kitrick taking the stairs slowly. “He screams law and order.”
Denver chuckles into my chest, and the sound has me scooping her up, one arm under her knees, the other at her back.
“Ready to go home, Del?”
Her sigh is filled with weeks of exhaustion. “Yes, please.”
Chapter 33
Colt
Wesson won’t stop staring at her, and neither can I. I asked Charlie to bring the dog to the house, knowing that when Denver woke, she’d want him here. I’m glad I did, because seeing them sleeping together in our bed makes me feel better about leaving her alone.
She sighs softly when I kiss her temple, and I think she mumbles that she loves me, and I say it, too.
Each step downstairs brings a new bodily ache. The last few months, I’ve been wound so tight I thought I’d never be able to relax again. But I unclench my jaw and relax my shoulders, and as the seconds becomes minutes, I allow myself to accept that she’s home. My girl is home.
Alistair is in the kitchen, eyes narrowed as he watches Kitrick. The fed is leaning against the kitchen side, arms folded, returning the heated glare. His shirt is still off, bandages wrapped around his chest to help protect his exposed flesh.
“Getting along?” I ask, opening the refrigerator to take out three bottles of water.
Alistair grunts and takes one from me. I hold the second out to Kitrick, and his eyes dart between me and the drink before taking it.
“What? You think cos I’m a good criminal that I’m a bad host?” I ask, unscrewing the cap and tossing it onto the counter.
Kitrick takes a few swigs then places the bottle down. “I was very close to being assigned to your case. Feels fucking weird to be standing in your kitchen instead.”
I snort a laugh. “Do you know how many cops have tried to worm their way into my family?” I look at Alistair. “Remember Greg?”
“Greg.” Alistair clicks his fingers. “That was his name. He cried after forgetting his backstory.”
Kitrick glares at us. “You think it’s funny?”
“I think your time is better spent on men like Spider,” I say. “So at least you were making the most of our tax dollars these last few years.”
Alistair chuckles. “Tax.”
The front door opens and closes and Taf saunters in, covered in blood and dirt. JJ isn’t far behind, looking equally disheveled.
“What a fucking night,” Taf mumbles, slouching against a stool. JJ immediately goes to a cabinet to take out a bowl and cereal. He prefers it without milk, which is fucking odd. “I stink. Where’s our girl?”
